Intrusions
by fan-nerd
Summary: 1930's Cops and Robbers AU. In the beginning, there was only the nagging feeling that Wright was keeping secrets from him. As it turned out, Investigative Officer Edgeworth, who made a promise to find an old friend within fifteen years, had been right to follow his hunch, and keep a promise. Prequel to Midnight Meetings.
1. Part I

**A/N: **This is the first in the series. A sort of origin story, how the boys met, etc. Crossposted from AO3. Notes at the end.

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**Part I**

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January 13th, 1917. **Pasadena**, California.

It was brisk outside this morning, so instead of his usual shined loafers and navy suit, he donned a three piece with more woolen padding, as his grandmother had absolutely insisted upon it, and a pair of boots. There was no doubt in his mind that the other children would laugh at the shawl she had wrapped around his unruly hair, so he lowered it to cover his neck instead. Of course, they'd picked on him for fewer things, but he'd been mostly content to silently fume, for the most part. They'd forget about their abuses to him by the following morning, because they needed his aide with some assignment or another that the strict teacher had told them to complete days ago.

Recently, his father had been telling him about all of the latest pictures and their leading stars, but he hadn't been paying much attention. No, instead, he'd turned his lazy, dark blue eyes to the window, where their family friends had brought their children. Mia wasn't subject to this lecturing because she hadn't snapped buttons off of her dress by playing with the children in the yard in her Sunday dress. Instead, she cockishly smiled at him from beyond the walls, and went to pick up her baby sister.

Good riddance, He thought to her silently, although he didn't really mean it. She was a sibling to him, the only person he knew besides a couple of classmates that understood his penchant for a fair bit of witticism, and his seemingly non-existant respect for the craft of their parents. Still, he knew what put bread on the table, and as long as they did their part, their lives would continue to go swimmingly and pleasantly enough, so he endured everything. The lectures, the teasings, the stupid Saturdays completely wasted spent getting those buttons sewn back on in the right places, being poked and prodded under the armpits as the shirts and suits had to be retailored. He'd grown again.

Now, school beckoned, looming over him. He wasn't a bad student - far from it, honestly - but until he came in contact with his friends, he would endlessly feel like the gangliest, nerdiest kid in class, helpless and lonely, and furious to snap that his father would tear them to pieces if they pushed him too far, but he'd never resort to such a dirty trick. It was hardly seemly. Not to mention, it was cowardly. He could handle his battles without the sway of his family name.

"Hey," A familiar rustle of papers signalled one of his friends - the messy, poor-to-do, but earnest Butz. He grinned cheesily, marking his crooked teeth and slanted nose, and even his shirt was a little wrinkled today, but his presence never failed to bring a smile to his classmate's face. "G'mornin'!" His family was from the Southland, somewhere, and it beamed through in his accent thickly, but he was hardly ashamed of such a thing. Their school was fairly nice, sporting girls in fine dresses, and boys in suits (Phoenix liked the pants and shirt well enough, but the waistcoat and suit jacket hardly seemed appropriate as everyday wear, but he had no mind to argue to the board about the issue), but it hardly turned away some of the kids that came from less money, like his friend.

"Good morning, Larry," Phoenix replied with a methodical smile, almost calculating. "Still refining your fool-proof plan to get Franziska to join you for dinner one evening?"

Before he could answer, his eyes wide with a plan and mouth twitching up in a smile, getting ready to regale him with his latest plan, a sharp voice cut in. "I should hope not," It said, and they both swiveled around to meet its' owner's eyes.

"Good morning, Miles," They chimed in unison, accents non-withstanding. The dark-haired boy put his chin on his palm and grinned all over again, continuing to speak. "You are just frustrated because you think that one day, Larry will, to your horror, succeed."

Puffed-up, colorfully clad and mannered Miles Edgeworth visibly bristled, his manicured little nails curling into his small palms. "Do not threatenme, please."

"Oh, c'mon! Your sis', she's real purdy, y'know. Ain't my fault we're born so many years apart. Ain't never stopped a man from trying!" Larry pushed his chest out for emphasis, and the spiky-haired youth seated to his left laughed obligingly, openly amused by both of his friends' current struggles. After all, Franziska Edgeworth was cutthroat and determined, fighting for women's rights and business, despite the open hostility she was treated to, both at home and at her workplace, for expressing such an interest. "I think her difficultness makes her real sharp!"

"Do not use words that you are not familiar with," The silver-haired, sharp-tongued younger brother grew defensive in his tone. "It makes your intelligence shine through quite pitifully."

The light-haired brunette blinked for a moment before opening his eyes widely. "Tha's a compl'ment, comin' from you, ain't it?"

Phoenix chuckled, putting his arm down at last. "No, Larry." Before they could continue this line of chatter, their teacher stalked back in, her hair white and back straight. As usual, she started regaling them with why the young were so useless, and so preoccupied with the technology of changing times before actually getting down to business. When they began grammar drills and arithmetic lessons, she favored his silver-haired friend frequently, gushing over what an example to the rest of his classmates he ought to be. Phoenix didn't really care, preferring to doodle in his notebook. His father would probably be furious if he found out about this particular waste of paper, but he would take the lecture for that. It was better than trying to keep himself awake by shuffling his feet, and trying to hide his yawns, and then getting in trouble with the old woman.

The day was relatively short, so he took the valuable time after class to play with his friends. Even the puttering younger Fey sibling had managed to plod out of her household and make her way over to them. The boys were ten, and she was three, but her enthusiasm and garbled English was more endearing than it was frustrating. Tag was mandatory, but short-lived, because Maya couldn't keep up. Instead, they argued the benefits of playing cops and robbers for fifteen minutes before deciding to kick a ball around.

"The thrill a' the chase! It'll be just like the pictures, I tell ya!" Larry had recently had the honor of going to a silent film, and it had featured a similar theme, in the form of a comedic skit. He had then proceeded to tell his classmates about it finite details, but of the other boys had been detatched and disinterested. Real life, to them, was a far more enthralling fantasy than he'd seen.

After all, both of them had secrets about their families that they could not share with even their closest friends. Miles, prim and pristine, bristly and bright-eyed, had a father quite high up in the law enforcement system of the state of California. Lately, it seemed his father, Gregory, was increasingly caught in a spiderweb of a case, and it was eating away at his family time. Still, Miles idolized the man, and was hardly ashamed to tell others this fact. It was the other things, the details of his job, and the people involved, the secrets that could not leave the dinner table, that he kept under heavy lock and key in his mind. On the other side of the law was the Wright family, probably connected to the case in some way, under another name. They ran gambling rings and illegal drug circles, but on the surface, they were as normal as any other family in the metropolitan area. His mother stayed at home and kept things running smoothly, fussing after her only child, and his father worked well into the mornings when he woke up. Together with the Feys, they kept a steady flow of income rivaling the Edgeworths', and even attended the same parties, which was how their boys had met outside of the classroom for the first time.

Miles believed Mr. Wright to be a somewhat wry businessman, who believed in investments and hated the war. He smoked heady-smelling cigars and his teeth seemed a little bit too white, but Phoenix assured him that his father was weird and embarrassing, just like anyone else's father would have been. However grudgingly, Miles accepted this, because even as much as he loved his father and admired his work, he too found that having his hair ruffled in public and having jokes cracked about him that he did not yet understand was, as his friend said, 'embarrassing'.

"I must admit that such a childish interpretation is hardly viable," Mrs. Edgeworth was the one that had drilled this difficult vocabulary into their child's mind, and his friends thought it made him seem more than a bit like a prude, but did not often bring this point up in conversation. Or, at least, not while he was in the near vicinity. "If, as you said, it were only so easy to catch criminals as it were to play a game of tag, there would be far more men out of work in this state."

"It is not like tag, Miles, it is like hide-and-seek," Phoenix corrected him, mindful of his words despite his lazy tone. He was absently fussing with Maya's hair, and his heart wasn't in his retort.

"It's not like either! It's cops-n'-robbers! One a you's got to play the baddie, and the rest a us has gotta figure out how you done it!" Larry proclaimed, shouting so all the kids on the playground turned to listen in, interested. "I'll go ask some a' them if they'll join us, 'cause it's more fun with more people!"

"You have not yet explained the rules, so before you run and get the rest of the neighborhood needlessly involved, please enlighten us on how, exactly, we are supposed to play this foolhearty game." This was probably the silver-haired boy's way of saying he was the slightest bit interested, and, understanding the translation, the spiky-haired brunette snorted.

Phoenix cut in before Larry could give him a migraine. "Look, I'll simplify things for you." Handing Maya over to Larry - she winced and turned up her nose a little bit, making him smile, but he continued, despite the minor interruption. "A few of us are on one team. Cops. Your dad's a cop, so I will take a leap of faith and guess that you would want to be on that team."

"Of course," Miles puffed, not realizing the humor in his sarcasm, and agreeing earnestly.

Shaking his head and smiling, he continued. "So, this is the team doing the finding, of course. First, the robbers have something that they have to take. Let us say, for example's sake, it is your hank." He tugged the shining, freshly laundered, cream-colored handkerchief from the boy's breast pocket, despite his muttered and furious protests. "They hide with it for a while, and the robbers try to distract the cops and keep it. The cops have to find them and tackle them to get them out of the game, but if one of the robbers with your 'chief gets away back to the starting point, they win."

"Typical," He replied haughtily, snorting derisively. "Criminals are rather crafty, so they should have more than one method of escape. How, pray tell, is this accurate?"

"Nobody said it was ac'rate, Edgy!" Larry called, and Miles visibly bristled at that offending nickname. Still, somewhere in the back of his mind, he was grateful that it was not worse.

"Nick, cops-n'-robbers?" Maya asked, frowning a little. "Ball! Ball!"

"Well, boys, looks like someone has made the decision for us," Standing and dusting off his dark trousers, Phoenix smiled. "Miles is being difficult, Larry is not being particularly persuasive, and the young miss wants to play with the ball. Ladies first, gents."

Larry seemed momentarily put off, but when Edgeworth stood and followed the Wright boy, still chattering about stupid the game was, he pouted and hurried to catch up to them. When the sun began to hang low in the sky, it was time for supper, signaling their parting. Not for the first time did Miles look longingly after Maya and Phoenix, who seemed so comfortable together, smiling and tugging at each other's hands, despite their loosely mended buttons. In the same notion that he would miss them until the following day, he wondered what secrets his friend hid behind his dark blue eyes and teasing smile.

As fate would have it, however, he would not be gifted this chance to learn more about him. Although he'd only known Phoenix and Larry for nearly half a year, transferring in for the late summer of school the year prior, his father had some news. Things at suppertime in their household were typically calm and quiet, his mother delivering food to the table at a rapid pace, and his father hurrying in against the cold, hanging his coat on the rack nearest the door while he kicked dirt out of the grooves of his loafers. Today, however, both of his parents were seated at the table, and his father's smile did not quite reach his eyes as it had in days prior. His mother was awfully morose as well.

"Miles," His father spoke deliberately, and had a strong jaw, as well as strong eyebrows. His son had heard others on the force found this made him intimidating, but he would never see the man in such a light. "We will be moving next month. This beat...it is turning up something big...I don't know what, but my instincts tell me that I should not let this slip away from me."

The boy swallowed dryly, mixed feelings wallowing unpleasantly in his stomach. "Yes, father. To where, if I may be permitted this knowledge?"

Gregory always wondered why he felt the need to be so formal, but at the moment, he could see that the polite mannerisms were covering up his burning disappointment. He felt guilty, knowing how well his boy liked the Wright child and his friend, Butz. "We'll be going to New York, for an undetermined amount of time. Of course I'll try my error best to see if we could try to catch the train out, perhaps every couple of years. Franziska will be coming with us, as well, as she's already received permission to transfer."

"I do not want to hinder your work or hers," Miles managed to grind out, but both his mother and father could see that he was trembling and his gray eyes were glossy, beneath his recently loosened bangs. "That is a completely ridiculous expense to take into account, father. I will manage accordingly."

Patting his son on the back, he gripped his shoulder, a notion of pride. "Thank you, Miles. It means a lot to me."

Rushing to be excused, his son wiped his hands on a napkin at his mother's admittance and hurried to his room, where they both knew he would be crying as silently as possible, steeling himself for the inevitable.

"Movin'?!" Butz exclaimed loudly enough to draw the attention of some of the other children in the classroom, before his friends hurried to make him be quiet. "That's in like...a coupla weeks! Your folks are crazies!"

"Apparently, they have been planning the move for quite some time," Edgeworth said, sounding and looking very tired. When he'd shrugged off his heavy winter coat and hung it upon coming into the classroom, his shoulders looked hunched, more so than usual. "My father's late returns were in part because he was closing the deal on our house. He got an offer he could not refuse, and sold rather quickly, despite circumstances."

"Jesus, Miles," A girl next to them hissed not to use the lord's name in vain, but Phoenix was hardly paying attention to her. "I cannot believe this."

"Neither can I," His eyes were hooded and sad, and the smile on his lips was bitter. Larry and Phoenix couldn't help grimacing in response.

"Well, y'gotta promise to keep in contact!" The almost ginger-haired brunette clasped his hand a little too tightly for comfort, and the formal boy squirmed a little in his seat, glaring at Butz and willing him to get a clue. "Letters, or 'grams! I heard they recently got a telephone to work from here to the other coast, so maybe by the time you move, it'll be real popular!"

"Yes, perhaps," He said, if only to get the taller boy to remove himself. Still, his gray eyes came back to his other friend's dark blue eyes, which bore into him like fine shards of glass.

After school, Phoenix managed to scare Butz off by telling him that Janice from the classroom across the way was stalking him, and although he shouldn't have, his silver-haired companion couldn't help laughing at the sheer terror written on his face. They sat together on a bench in a park between both of their houses, and kicked dirt together for a time, before the brunette spoke, sounding as weary as his friend felt. "I really will miss you."

Swallowing terribly and feeling guilty, although he had nothing to do with the remonstrations why his family was moving, Edgeworth looked him in the eyes slowly. "And I, you."

Taking his hand as Butz had earlier, but not with as much ferocity, and definitely different for reasons he could not yet explain, it didn't bother him to have this hold. "Listen, Miles..." Wright looked completely torn, his eyes gave everything away, but infuriatingly enough, he still wasn't spilling all of his secrets, though they were certainly close enough now. "I know it is too much to ask of you, when you are moving all the way to the other side of the nation, but do me a favor, alright?"

Nodding slowly, he chortled back. "Depends on the favor."

Phoenix laughed, a deep rumbling thing that went through both of their small hands. "I will endeavor to be brief in my appeal," He started, eyes gleaming. "Listen, I know you want to be a cop, like your dad." Unsure where this was going, Miles opened his mouth to ask why he was bringing this up, but was startling interrupted from doing just that. "I don't want to dissuade you. I just want you to think, in a few years when you join the force, about Los Angeles."

Scowling irritatingly, Miles spoke at last. "Of course I will think of Los Angeles. We live right outside of the city."

"I mean, for work," His friend spoke like he knew something Miles did not, and sighed accordingly, as though he were being overly patient with his silver-haired friend. "Just...remember that. Write yourself a memo, if you have to."

"Why?" It was an accusing tone, but he was hard-pressed for time, needing to get home soon, and didn't have time to skirt this issue with Wright.

"Are you going to do me the favor, or not?" Phoenix asked just as accusingly, and they glared at each other until the taller boy yielded.

"I suppose I shall try," Edgeworth ground out, and his friend smiled just a little bit, nothing as large as he gifted Maya with, or that ridiculous smirk he presented to Butz and his family, at times.

"If you can find me again in fifteen years," His friend said, almost issuing a challenge, as he peeled their hands apart and started to walk away. "Perhaps I shall tell you more. But you have to remember, about Los Angeles."

With that being said, it was practically a guarantee that he would never forget, despite his earlier reluctance.

When they left, a couple of weeks later, the Wright family was surprisingly absent from the station, but Mia and Maya Fey were present to see the Edgeworths off with a basket of fresh cookies for the journey. Hiding his disappointment, Miles mustered a weird sort of scowl-smile that the three year old told her older sister was a sign that he was sad. He didn't bother arguing with her.

As the train departed, the girls waved handkerchiefs in their direction, hooting and hollering their goodbyes. Larry cried, telling Franziska and her brother to write, but she looked entirely disinterested in what he had to say, sitting there with a book cracked open and saying nothing to her family. Miles, for his part, deigned to scribble something on a piece of old cloth, and his father asked him about it only briefly once they'd been comfortably seated in the sleeper car.

"It is only something said in passing," He remarked to the man, who quirked a brow in disbelief, but did not further press the issue. Gray eyes wandered to the quickly passing landscape of the land, and he wondered, briefly, if he might be sick.

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Notes -

1 - Pasadena, California is a (currently rather profitable) suburb just outside of Los Angeles. The Rose Bowl is held there in Winter.  
2 - This is inspired/loosely influenced by the life of Benjamin Siegel, who was moved by the mafia to the west coast in the 30s, and thrived there.  
3 - Just for clarity, Franziska is 16, Mia is 13, Phoenix, Edgeworth, and Larry are 10, and Maya is 3. (I realize Franziska and Edgeworth are backwards, but I wanted to reverse their age differential.)  
4 - Telephones, which were most officially invented in the mid-1800s, were pretty common at this time, but were mostly locally used. In 1915, the first phone call was made from San Francisco to New York.  
5 - A note about language and dress. In the early 1900s, the way one dressed was very important, and even schoolboys wore suits at the time. Fashions eventually changed, but a standard three-piece suit was fairly common. Phoenix and Miles speak formally because of their upbringings, whereas Larry does not for the same reason.


	2. Part II

**A/N**: Hello and welcome back! Crossposted from AO3, chapter two of _Intrusions_ is here!

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**Chapter Summary**: Twenty-two year old Miles Edgeworth is completely exhausted with the beat in New York, and researching as much as he could about Los Angeles in his free time probably didn't help matters. Stumbling upon one article in particular about the city piqued his interest, and before the week is out, he received a letter of recommendation from Marvin Grossberg that allowed him to pursue a gang leader on the West Coast.

**Brief Clarifications**: In the previous chapter, someone was curious about what kind of school the boys went to as children. The answer is something akin to a semi-private school, affiliated with a church. School as an institution wasn't a huge deal yet (in the early 1900s), but Universities were considered highly prestigious and nigh impossible to get in if you weren't filthy rich. Part of the reason Larry could go is most likely because his parents had work, and wanted him to get the education, at the very least, since they knew he wouldn't be able to go to high school or college.

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**Part II**

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March 7th, 1929. **Clifton, **NY.

His father had been busy, but more apparent in his life, in the years since their move across the country. Still, in the last three or four years in particular, the youngest Edgeworth in the family had grown antsy, and had used his savings from various jobs in the past six or seven years to leave. Franziska, his sister, had left only a couple years after moving to New York, living on her own. When the women's suffrage act had passed years ago, she'd celebrated among colleagues, dragging him from his job lifting crates and tending an old neighbor's shop to join her, although he'd only been thirteen at the time. He refrained from telling his mother and father that they'd been drinking illegally, and his morning spent at his sister's apartment was mostly spent recovering from said intoxication.

Still, despite it all, he'd grown to be quite tall, and supposedly handsome. Supposedly because, well, he thought his jaw was rather strong, but other than that, nothing seemed similar between himself and those stars on the big screen, coming from the town neighboring the one he'd been born from. And, speaking of that town, he had that cloth, dirty and mangled, ripped from here to next Tuesday, in the back of a drawer where no one would bother to look, but he never forgot what it symbolized, even if the details were a little fuzzy. Even his friend's name was a little slow to come back to him, but he'd been ten. It was understandable. But the city remained in his mind as if it had been branded there. How else could he explain all of these articles, books, magazines, next to anything with the city printed on it with relevance to crime?

Los Angeles.

His apartment was absolutely buried with the stuff. He'd been beligerent and connected as a teenager, making it onto the force by seventeen, and rising in ranks more rapidly than some of his colleagues could understand. They spoke ill of him rather often, but he hardly seemed bothered by their notions. Their family was proud, and his father patted him strongly on the back, and he felt only a little bad about his childhood friends from time to time, but this work helped to make some of his misplaced guilt off of his chest. That challenge, the threat of the time coming soon to a close, seemed to mock him. So he pressed close to the papers, eyebrows crinkling, and searched.

Pens and varying inks littered his office space, and just as he neared the end of a paragraph that caught his attention, a rap came at his door. Sighing and dislodging himself from the encyclopedias and research collective journals, he told whomever was at the door that he would be there momentarily. He wondered how he had missed the buzz from the front desk, but figured his family or his boss were the only ones that could've been bothered enough to come visit him in Clifton on a Sunday.

Certainly enough, his mother and sister stood at attention at the door, and he paused to let them in. "May I get you anything? Tea or coffee, perhaps?" Mentally berating himself, he wished he hadn't offered them coffee, as his most recent choice of brew, an experiment, was unlikely to suit their tastes.

"Water, please," Mrs. Edgeworth nodded and stepped inside familiarly, while Franziska snapped, "Tea, your coffee is atrocious," And although he didn't appreciate his sister's tone, he was grateful for her mutterings, as they were truthful. It would spare his mother's asking for it later, after all.

"I hear that things are going well in the city," He worked mostly outside of the downtown area of New York, but occasionally skipped over to Manhattan and even to New Jersey, if he was called upon. It was a testament to how reliable they found him, as his success rate in catching lucrative criminals was nearly eighty-percent. His mother was awfully proud of him, and his father was slowly easing himself into patrol jobs that didn't force his bones any longer, so when their son had taken the mantle with gusto, they sung nothing but his praises. "What is all of this, Miles? Don't tell me that you are overtaxing yourself, yet again."

He hated lying to his mother, but he was over twenty years old. It was high past time that she stopped fussing over him in such a way. "It is only a little extra research, mother. Intellectual practice, is all." The lie felt bitter on his lips, and he tried very hard not to avert his gaze out of nervousness.

Franziska had pity on him, in her own way. She dropped her glass with force, breaking it and spilling water all over the floor. He glared at her, but she kept her face very straight while saying, "It was only an accident, little brother. I will be more careful in the future."

"Please do," Miles grated back, striding off to the kitchen to fetch a towel and a pair of gloves so he could pick up all of the broken shards and insure that his wooden flooring did not buckle. After he'd tended to the mess, he joined them in the living room with his own cup of tea, Franziska's, and a fresh glass of water for his mother. They only momentarily chattered about his father's declining health with grimaces before his sister announced that they must be going for another appointment, and his mother sighed in abject disappointment.

She made him lean down so that she could kiss his cheek, and made a show of leaving her bright lipstick mark on his skin before leaving. "Do mind your health, Miles."

"I will, mother," Another lie, he grimaced internally and smiled externally.

Franziska unwound the whip she'd taken to carrying after their move and stretched it threatening in her hands. "Grandfather will be most displeased if you collapse. Be careful not to tarnish our name about town, little brother."

Their grandfather's mention alone made him shiver, and he straightened his back. "I would not dare."

Her frosted eyes were hooded as she stretched the leather, and her heels clicked against the wood as she stalked away. Sighing after they'd left and hailed a cab, he leaned against the door, almost wishing that his sister and grandfather did not work in such close association. More than anything, he desired any excuse to get out of this state and away from his family's expectations and scrutiny, but he hadn't yet found his reason why yet.

With weighted shoulders, he felt back into that article with an absent enthusiasm, following it for the first page before deciding it was useless to him. All petty thefts. But a name showed up at the bottom that caught his attention. The Enthralling Alicio, alias, is rumored to have connections to the actress, but no one is aware of his true name or identity, only that there may be more to his 'excitement' than just his name. More on Page 7A.

Hurried, blunt and and entirely graceless fingers scrambled on the dial phone for a familiar number. When the nasally and sleepy-sounding man picked up, he couldn't stop his words from rushing out. "Captain Grossberg, I deeply apologize for contacting you on a Sunday, sir, but have you heard of a man by the name of Alicio, from Los Angeles?"

"I have, but, what's this got to do with anything?" His boss murmured, probably with a mouth full of food.

His eyes were on fire, but his mouth was set in a stern line. "It may be a reason for my restationing, sir."

x

April 6th, 1929. **Los Angeles,** California.

Most of his co-workers were completely pleased to see him go, and he bid them adieu with little remorse. Grossberg had been happy enough to hand him a letter of recommendation. He'd given him a little more information to go on about Alicio, but mostly told him to meet with a fellow investigator, once he'd settled all his business of moving. His house, he left to his family to deal with, and his posessions were few, so packing was relatively simple. The only thing, then, was to get on the train, and quell his excitement just a bit. He wondered if he would meet anyone familiar, especially because he was moving to a quarter of town only thirty or forty minutes by automobile away from his old home.

Although his focus was on Alicio and finding out more about him, wondering if this was what the boy had been hinting at, and doubted it, so his thoughts turned once again to his old friend. Somehow, he could only remember him being called 'Nick', but this did not feel familiar. His cheeks burned in solitude on that train. Absently, he wondered if Franziska had suspicions - she always seemed to know more about him than he knew himself, even if his parents were oblivious to all else save that he was going back to California. They assured him over and over again that there was no need for him to move, but eventually, it had been his father and sister persuading his mother to let him go. That and the fact that he'd already cleared his home out and bought his train ticket. Airflight was pleasant enough, but more expensive than he was budgeting, and flying his luggage to California hardly seemed reasonable, so he climbed aboard the train and dozed lightly in his sleeper car, reading through as much as he could about his mark before arriving.

The first couple of days of April were spent cleaning his new apartment and reaquainting himself with the area, and then the day prior, he'd gone to the station and handed a large man there his recommendation letters. They'd heard about him, apparently, and he was conflicted about the negative reputation he had earned among his colleagues in New York, but they knew he was good at his job above all else, and he determined that he would change this impression through his work here. Gumshoe was his partner, for the time being, working to show him around the place and alleviate the transition. The force was a little different here in California, but he was a fast-learner. The bumbling detective was almost endearing in his earnestness, but he was also infuriating to Miles, who was something of a perfectionist.

"You sure you don't need help, pal?" Gumshoe seemed more like a younger brother, his fingers dyed with spilled ink and traces of blue ink were in his hair where he'd obviously tangled his fingers in his dark mop.

"No, thank you," Edgeworth absolutely insisted, pushing the bulky man out of his office. "If you find out anything about Alicio, please report it to me posthaste, detective."

"No problem, sir!" Gumshoe saluted, although they were supposed to be partners, and the silver-haired man squirmed a little bit in his seat. After this day of research, and the day of catching a petty thief afterwards, he felt exhausted and enthralled all the same. Deciding that he'd go for a smoke in a cigar bar, he lounged around until he found a gentleman's club three blocks from the station, and thanked whatever pleasant star he'd been born under for his good luck this evening.

Once there, he reclined with the evening paper, caught up on the news in sports to take his mind off of work, and happened to catch eyes with someone who seemed dreadfully familiar when he'd paused for a moment. He wore a deeply navy suit, matching his dark blue eyes, and his hair - well, hair like that, it was unforgettable. The man he eyed hadn't noticed him, as he'd been walking rather deliberately towards the front, signing up for a game of pool. Then, all of the sudden, when he'd stopped talking to the desk attendant, his stride stopped midway, and he caught his openly-attentive admirer. "No way," Miles wished he could disappear and almost choked, inhaling a puff of his cigar awkwardly. "It's been what, ten years?"

"Twelve, actually," And with painful jolting, Phoenix Wright's secretive, deep blue eyes and sly smile hit him with more force than a ton of bricks might have. "Not that I'm counting."

"Absolutely not," His old friend - the old friend, with all his promises (or favors, whatever he could manage to call it in the dead of night), was tall and lean and unarguably handsome. Somehow, Miles doubted that people called him handsome the way they had once called him the same. Instead, he felt that Phoenix was probably associated with those movie stars, who reclined sideways for the covers of magazines and stared into the camera like they were willing the audience to see his eyes in full intensity. Phoenix sat in the chair next to him like he'd been intending to do that the whole time. "I mean, I thought you might have forgotten. You never did write it down."

Miles bit his lip to keep from snarling and telling him that he had written down, far out of his sight. More than once. "My memory is more reliable than you might imagine."

"Clearly," Phoenix chuckled, and then had that same teasing smile back on his face. "Hey, wanna grab a drink?"

Although he was sorely tempted to say yes, he had a job and a reputation to maintain. "You know good and well what my profession is. I could arrest you for even suggesting such a thing."

"Yeah, well," The other man was handed a cigar, clipped the end off, and had another attendant pass him a lighter, reclining into his chair like he owned the place. For all Edgeworth knew, he did own the place. "It's never stopped lesser officers, but I kind of figured that would be your answer. Miles Edgeworth, back in Los Angeles. Where will we get our kicks now?" The beginnings of a low jazz quartet hummed in their ears, and the darker-skinned man smiled. "Well, if I can't take you drinking, maybe you would like to meet the band."

His eyebrow rose so quickly that Miles felt it might have flown off of his face. Everything was so strangely surreal. "I only came to relax for a few minutes after work. I am afraid I will have to be going soon."

Clearly, his childhood friend looked amused and disappointed in the same turn. "Well, it's good to have you back on this side of the world," Phoenix exaggerated sarcastically, taking a long drag and slowly exhaling the smoke, looking very professional and ridiculously coy about it. Edgeworth felt inexplicably warm, and his cheeks were burning. Yet another excuse to get the hell out of here. "I'm friends with the guy who runs the place, so feel free to come back and find me. I'm here on most Fridays, and sometimes on other days. Of course, if you asked for a way to keep in contact, I might not be adverse to telling you."

"There is no need to play games with me, Wright," His last name slipped naturally from his lips, and Miles huffed, folding his paper and extinguishing the embers of his cigar on a nearby ashtray. "Your information is hardly necessary at this juncture."

As he opened the door, the bell above it rang, and Phoenix spoke to him again, looking absolutely insufferable. The buffoon, Edgeworth would think later. "See you around, Edgy."

He hated him.

x

April 20th, 1929.

It had been two weeks, and he was doing a fine job of forgetting that evening, and even chalked some of the intonations in his old friend's voice up to the influence of the drugs in his system. Alicio and anyone he was connected to seemed awfully difficult to catch even a word on, but other criminals kept him busy in the meantime. A man who retired from the army, Gant, who was an old fraud that never listened to anybody and managed to tangle himself in a couple of messy murders, and Dee Vasquez, a gorgeous starlet turned proprietor that had been responsible for a man's death, although it had been in self-defense. Chasing them was so tiring that he hardly had time to entertain thoughts on how the bumbling, teasing Wright had become such a viper. Admittedly, in the memories he'd conjured of that particular evening, he'd exaggerated them more than a little. Still, when his co-worker dragged him away from a scene just moments after they'd finally found the evidence to put Gant away for good, he slapped him, cried a little, and yelled that the two of them would be off to celebrate at the gentleman's club by the office.

A lump formed hurriedly in his throat, and he violently refused the large brute, but he was hardly listening, continuing to thump the silver-haired, younger man on the back until he was breathless. "I'm tellin' you, you're gonna love the place. Real classy joint, Mister Edgeworth, sir."

"Yes," He finally managed to choke out a response between wheezing breaths. "Of course." An automobile belonging to a well-to-do fellow in the higher-ups came by, their overseer offering them a ride to the place this fine Friday evening, and Gumshoe took him up on the offer and shoved his colleague in before he could put up more of a fuss. They arrived after a series of bumpy stops and starts, and the club, just like he remembered from his brief visit two weeks prior, felt cozy, and, as promised, 'classy'.

Gumshoe barrelled into the place much like he did everything else, with a big, clumsy smile, and rough hands, but seemed to draw some laughs from faces Edgeworth did not recognize from the station. However, one face in the lounge was horrifically present, as he had feared, and he steeled himself for a confrontation. "Hello, officers," Blast Wright, he sounded so comfortable, putting on this farce. "What can I do you for, gentlemen?"

"Two fine cigars from the Dominican, on me!" The last part of his exclamation drew a hearty round of laughter and applause, and one man in the back hollered that Dick must've gotten lucky with a lady the evening before, to feel so excitable. He only clapped his partner's shoulder and praised his work, despite being so fresh to the city, so they took a moment to holler and congratulate Edgeworth, welcoming him to the city so well that he felt he might die of embarrassment. Miles could only praise his stars that Franziska lived on the other side of the country at this moment.

After they'd been presented with their rewards, Gumshoe asked, politely, if he minded very much that he was going to play pool with some friends of his, and Miles dismissively muttered something back in return, so the bulky, brick-house of man smiled and bowed out, leaving his comrade to puff away under the lounge's dim evening lighting. He was only alone for long enough to exhale one long breath of tobacco from his mouth and nose before he was inevitably joined by a familiar face. "And here I thought you'd forgotten about me."

"It was not my idea, nor was it my intention, to come to this establishment this evening," Edgeworth blithely commented, very deliberately avoiding his old friend's eyes.

"I'm sure," Phoenix smiled back, knowingly. He wasn't smoking, this time. "Of course, we could always manage to slip out of here, if you'd rather." Steely eyes glared at him with the force of a wild animal, obviously remembering his comments about visiting a bar, from his last foray into this club. "I said quieter, not more obnoxious. You have grown to be quite the difficult conversationalist."

"I am not quite sure that we agree on forms of entertainment," Miles snarked back, and earned only another smile for his efforts. "And what, pray tell, is your bright idea for the evening plans?" The words were more of a demand, and expected no proper reply other than a shrug, perhaps, but he got an answer.

"Let's go to my place," Absently, Miles wondered when his friend had gotten so loose in his language, when he'd once been so focused and borderline poetic. Now, as he scowled, he could see him as nothing more than a simpleton, albeit with a gravitational pull he could not explain. "I think we should take the time to properly catch up. Smoke a little, chat a little. There's no law against that yet, is there?"

"I suppose not, but you have not a man convinced," The silver-haired man wittily replied, inhaling again and exhaling slowly. "What is to make you so sure that I will follow you, whom I hardly knew for half of a year, over a decade ago, to god-knows-where in a city I have only been in for two weeks?"

Blue-black eyes glinted in the low lights, and his old acquaintance had to take special care not to stop breathing out of sheer anxiety. "Well," He paused for a beat, looking rather sheepish, rubbing his neck like he had when they were children and his explanations did not have confidence behind them. "There's nothing to make you follow me, I suppose, except old promises."

Gray eyes shined, and his grimace twisted into something resembling a smirk.

The other men in the club were far too preoccupied to even notice them leave.

The walk to Wright's house was mostly quiet, but he supplemented the excursion with quiet, yet audible, murmurs about the town, so different, and yet so similar, to their hometown, just an afternoon's drive away. He explained, during this time, that his parents had moved a few hours south of the city, while he had gone further into the heart of it. The stage held his passion, and his enthusiasm for his craft had burned so brightly that, as he had explained, there had been nary a doubt in his mind that someone would notice him one day, and so they had. He got along well with his fellow stars and starlets, and the more he spoke, the more Edgeworth realized that perhaps they had just gotten off on an awkward start, so estranged and unsure of how to tread around each other again. After all, he was much the same. Full of biting wit and earnest expression, Phoenix spoke of his friends and family light they were the lights in the sky, and seemed unashamed of all the little ups and downs he'd been much prone to in recent years.

When Edgeworth shared his recent struggles to get from one coast to the other, muttering gingerly that it was his fault in the first place (Phoenix had laughed about that for a long while, pleased that he'd listened and chosen to return, but also surprised that he had taken his words so seriously), the dark-haired man had smiled wearily and patted him softly, a much better feeling than those ludicrously hard thumps Gumshoe had treated him to earlier. Their conversation wasn't curtailed by the arrival at the apartment - instead, it was supplemented by cookies that were not overly sweet and a decaffinated brew of coffee that smelled absolutely heavenly. Wright had protested that he was of no great fortune, but he was no slouch either, and Edgeworth hardly believed his humility. His taste was impeccable, Miles felt, even though he grumbled out of sheer reaction more than anything else. In his household, it was almost the only way to be heard. Even then, the meaning of his words often got distorted.

For thirty minutes at least, they took careful time to catch up with each other's lives, and then delved into tangents for at least another hour or two, and before Miles knew it, it was becoming far later than he'd intended to be out anywhere, gentleman's club or otherwise. Frowing and berating the watch on his wrist as though it were responsible for his imposition, he stood abruptly and cut his old friend off. "I must be going." It was eleven -ridiculous! When had he ever stayed at anyone's home, excepting his family, so late?

"Aww, Edgeworth, you don't have to go," The other man had been switching between his last name, full name, and first name all night, and showed no signs of picking a way to address him comfortably just yet. "I've got an extra bed, and a robe, if you'd like to stay."

Something violently came over him for a moment and he wished to shout in agreement, but he pressed his lips very thin and managed to reply, "I really shouldn't," In what was possibly the most hesitant voice he'd spoken with in nearly a decade.

A tan, rough hand grabbed his, and those full, stage-servicing lips quirked up in what felt like the most geniune smile Miles had seen in a long time. "It's no problem, Miles. I'd love for you to stay."

His eyes were just as strange as he remembered, so honest and bright, and shadowed with thoughts and things he didn't know, and something about the charm of everything about him made the police officer want to close his eyes and forget everything he knew. Unconsciously, his paler hand had squeezed back, and his dark gray eyes were hooded, as he managed to breathe back, "Okay," And felt supremely childish for it.

"The bathroom is just across the hall," Phoenix released his hand slowly and showed him around animatedly. "In the morning, I usually make eggs and toast for breakfast. Is that alright?"

Edgeworth couldn't manage to avoid responding, "If only I were a herbivore, for I would raise such a stink in this town, you would never be able to return to Los Angeles or suggest such a meal to me again."

Smirking back, the brunette replied, "Well, then, Mister I-wear-cravats-over-uniform, I'm sure you would be happy to tell all the other vegetarians in town that you valiantly defended their honor, while starving."

"It was only hypothetical," Edgeworth's pale lips twitched up against his will.

"I know." Phoenix smiled, and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

**Notes:**

1. Clifton is a city not far from New York, New York, which is the business sector and arguably the largest city in the state. Albany, however, is the capital of New York.  
2. Women's suffrage, or the 19th amendment's ratification/acceptance came in June 4th of 1920. It was kind of a huge deal, as it finally allowed women to vote.  
3. Alicio is a name that means honorable, or of a noble kind. More about him in later chapters.  
4. The prohibition in the United States lasted for 13 years (from 1920 to 1933), and was remembered for a rise in organized crime. A lot of this crime, unsurprisingly, surrounded the controversy of the illegality of alcohol consumption. Long story short, drinking was illegal, not that it stopped people from making liquor, or from buying it.  
5. Tobacco, in all forms, was huge, especially during the prohibition. After all, if you can't drink, you might's well smoke. It was considered a sign of status, as well. Cigarettes were cheaper, but cigars were definitively higher-class.  
6. Gentlemen's clubs were pretty common, and had everything from stellar reputations to seedy scores. Illegal gambling, drug trade, and so on took place in some, and sometimes harmless games, such as darts, pool, and cards, were played there, and legal drugs (i.e. cigars) were sold there.  
7. A note about stage plays; obviously, New York is much more popular for stage work than LA, but LA had its' fair share of stage limelight as well. It just so happened that movies really took hold in the city, but in the 20s, the stage was a ritzier night on the town than the movies. Often times, actors from the stage would come to work in the movies, especially as they got more and more popular (in the 30s).  
8. A note about child labor - it is the beginning of the Great Depression at this time (starts 1929), and child labor laws did not come into effect until afterwards. People spent a lot of time going to the movies to escape their lives, even if they were desperate for wages. Here, however, both Edgeworth and Phoenix would be making enough to not worry as much as others may have.


	3. Part III

**A/N**: A special thanks to 6GunSally, who is repping this fic on a forum here called AA's Serene Place. Hope you enjoy this chapter as well! Short chapter, unfortunately, but the fic will be continued as "Midnight Meetings". First chapter goes up either tonight or tomorrow. Also, **SMUT WARNING!** If you'd like to skip it, it's over after paragraph 6 or so.

* * *

**Chapter Summary**: Phoenix, who's tired of sleeping with him while hiding the truth, makes good on an old favor. Edgeworth had done what he had asked, after all.

* * *

**Part III**

* * *

November 2nd, 1930. Wright's Apartment - **Los Angeles,** California.

Miles Edgeworth made such deliciously illegal noises in bed, when he was sweaty and urgent, his erection fisted hot in his own palm, trying bite his mouth closed and finding himself completely unable to make such a motion for how full and exhausted and immesurably compromised he currently was, moving himself lewdly on the other man's body. This was such an ineffable catastrope that he hardly knew where to begin explaining how such a thing had even happened, but here he was, moving himself with the help of those stong, calloused hands, and rutting into the other man's chest and his own hand like a two-bit whore.

It was disgraceful, burningly humiliating, and unarguably, unquestionably satisfying.

"What happened to all the complaining you were doing a second ago?" His partner rolled his hips in a smooth, wave-like grinding motion, driving at his prostate with a singular intention. The words tumbling from his lips were less arrogant than they were continually teasing, and he got a bruising, wet bite at the soft skin of his tan neck for the effort at witticism, given the circumstances.

"Unlike you, banter is not my primary vocal function in bed," Edgeworth's words hung raggedly, the head of his own erection now being cupped by one of Phoenix's hands and leaking receptively. Crooning and moaning from the back of his throat, he tried to parry back, to no success. "Your pace is slower than usual...getting old, Wright?"

"Yikes, no need to get snippy," Phoenix breathed back, squeezing his eyes together and holding his partner as he rolled into him again three times in a row, forcing his spine to bend and leaving him leaning over the tanner chest of the man lying on the bed. "Feel better?"

A moan and a spurt across his knuckles told him that he did, in place of the policeman's words. The sight of Edgeworth's abdominal muscles tighting, and the feeling of him squeezing tightly at his member forced his thoughts and retorts away quickly, and he could only move instinctually, sweaty, lubricated hands pulling his partner's ejaculation out, and rolling his hips at a pace that was probably uncomfortable. Miles moved off of him when he groaned, and the silver-haired man came proudly over the brunette's chest, pressing the other man's member against his rear until he came too. They breathed like they had run a marathon, but Edgeworth refused to collapse out of stubborn pride more than anything else, even as Phoenix chuckled and splayed himself on the mussed linens.

Unable to hide a smile anyways, Miles silently agreed that he 'felt better', although the reason was definitely different from what Phoenix had meant when he'd posed the question. "I do believe it is high time that I bathed and made my way back to my commode," He urged Phoenix off of the sheets slowly, pale fingers digging into a sweaty, tanned shoulder. Edgeworth rolled the sheets up and carefully avoided touching the edges of his bundle, where he knew their seeds were mingling, and potentially staining the cotton, much to his irk. Standing over the tub and listening to the soft chuckles of the apartment's owner, he huffed. "The least I could do before leaving is to make sure you will not let _these_ sheets go to waste."

"Hey, relax. There's no need to rush out of here, either. Let me take care of those. You're sore, aren't you?" Edgeworth could parade with his nose turned up all day long, but Phoenix could call his bluff nine times out of ten. His feet thudded softly against the wood, and he leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a sated smile. When those pale, long fingers let the sheets drop into the running soapy water he'd drafted up, gray eyes regarded the other male carefully, almost watching to make sure he did it right. "No need to glare at me. You'll have your turn when I'm finished."

"I hardly require assisstance bathing myself," Miles turned scarlet, regardless of the act they'd committed only minutes ago.

Dark eyes glimmered in the opaque water's marred reflection. "I never said you did." Miles sighed and reached for the spare robe he had learned to call his own in recent weeks, settling in Wright's personal armchair and closing his eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted. Although he'd only intended to morosely reminisce on how they'd tangled themselves in this relationship for a moment, he found himself falling asleep, quite against his will.

A year and some months ago, he had moved to Los Angeles, hot on the heels of a criminal that he was interested in bringing to justice - one Alicio. Of course, he called himself 'enthralling', for some ridiculous, melodramatic reason, but Miles found the unidentified man mostly infuriating. More and more starlets from Hollywood were tossing out his name, as though coming in contact with him was exactly what they needed to make their careers, and the man they'd recently arrested, initials D.K. and all other information unknown, worked with drugs and had let slip a hint that he knew him too. He was making things disappear, had connections with the wealthiest men in the city, crooks and otherwise. Rumor had it that some of the men in the force knew Alicio too, but they were keeping awfully mum about such a thing, knowing how well Miles Edgeworth would love to roast them over an open fire to get any sort of lead on his mark.

It felt an awful lot like the picture Phoenix had dragged him to go see last year, with the funny man in the bowler hat with the cane, and the music in four parts, in which a comedic tramp had led the police by the nose all round the circus. Except, in his scenario, the tramp wore a mask that he, the detective, could not seem to tear off, and his fellow officers were more like the performers, confused entirely by things, and determined to continue the show, regardless.

_Only one way out in cops and robbers_, Butz had said something along those lines. Even more than he had then, Edgeworth found such a notion entirely laughable.

Phoenix found the man sleeping in his chair, and let his smile drop for a moment, feeling guilt wrench strongly in his chest and gut all over again. He'd spent so much time getting Edgeworth to open up, talk to him, laugh with him (however sarcastically), and absolutely, unfallably falling in love with him that his lies and disguises were hindering the very depth of their relationship. Still, telling him only meant one thing.

It meant, for what it was worth, he would have to leave, and force his old friend to chase him. Again.

He hung his sheets out to dry on the line outside his window, and hoped that the weather would be forgiving. The night was clear and cool, but a wind was blowing, and he could only wish that things stayed that way until morning. In the meantime, he pulled out the spare set and threw them across the mattress as quietly as possible. When he'd finished, he undid the knot at Edgeworth's waist and lifted him gingerly from the seat to the tub, which he had drained, wiped clean, and filled again, this time with as much steaming water as he could muster. Miles hissed against it sleepily before opening his mouth, back pressed to Phoenix's chest. How vulnerable they both were here, naked and lounging in the small tub, feet hanging over the lip of the thing in a cruel, illicit, beautiful bliss.

For now, it didn't matter how many times Wright had managed to wrangle him over to his apartment, how long it had taken to break him down and put his tongue in his mouth, how often they'd complained together about work and their personal lives, because right now, in this tub, as Miles did his best to let the other man lavish him with attention, and respond with reassuring gestures in kind, they were the happiest they ever had been.

Leaving in the night, after a cup of coffee, a few puffs of a shared cigar, and a few languid, aromantic kisses, Edgeworth found it inexplicably difficult to walk away from him, for different reasons than usual. Unusually, Wright looked not amused but...distraught.

He would not understand why for several more days yet.

x

November 6th, 1930. Wright's Apartment - **Los Angeles**, California.

This was it. Slamming his hands down on his desk and hollering for the bumbling detective, he circled the information and hurried to memorize as much as he could in as little time as possible. Gumshoe nearly knocked over his glass chess set, again, as he thumped in, wondering what was the matter with his boss.

"Alicio never messes up, so if my intuition is to be believed, and it is," He assured the other man, his finger sharply jabbing at the words in the report. "We have a lead at long last."

"So," Dick struggled to put two and two together, wishing that Mr. Edgeworth did not have such a flair for the dramatic. "What you're saying is, uh, things're looking up?"

"What I am saying is that we need to go to this jewelry store and find out why so many stolen artifacts have been sold here in such a short time. If we do not follow this lead now," Edgeworth accentuated this word by sharply turning his heel and reaching for his jacket, "We may possibly never hear from our famous Alicio again."

"How's that a bad thing, sir?" Gumshoe didn't seem to understand that disappearing criminals didn't mean they were dying off somewhere remote, instead of the obviously more reasonable explanation.

"It means, you imbecile, that Alicio's trying to leave Los Angeles. He knows we're on to him, for some reason, and he can't bring his stash with him." Still, something about the jewels bothered him. Thieving was hardly his headlining act. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if someone he knew was behind this mask, skillfully bating him here. But right now, they had a cab to hail.

At the store front, a lovely young woman smiled at them, and her hair was fiery and fluffy enough to rouse suspicion in and of itself, but that was none of Edgeworth's current concern. "We are the police. We are here to investigate some recent suspicions that a man named Alicio may have come here and delivered a bunch of jewels, in order to soon leave the city. Do you know anything about what happened here last night?"

"Sure do, mister," She agreed, and her accent was hauntingly familiar. After a start, he realized that it reminded him invariably of Butz, who had been from the South. "Whatcha wanna know?"

"What did he look like? What did he bring in?" Gumshoe and a collection of lower officers were searching around the place, and found nothing especially out of place, so they were to rely on Lotta's testimony, for the moment.

"Bunch a pearls, a coupla emeralds, maybe a diamond. Real nice gent, y'know, one of those fancy but not-too-fancy types," She replied, and Edgeworth resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and yet determinedly wrote the few things he'd gleaned from the thickness of her accent in his notebook. "Dark hair, all slick, but it was nine o'clock at night, sir! I ain't got the eyeballs to know them kind a details under the gas lamps."

"Height? Approximately," He ammended, feeling like he was going to growl at someone, albeit unintentionally.

Lotta hummed and brought a finger to her chin. "'Bout your height, I'd reckon, sir."

Sighing, he had Gumshoe recall the men, and reconvened to share information with him outside of the storefront. "So, what did you think, sir?" Gumshoe looked rather sorry that he couldn't have been of more help, and Edgeworth momentarily felt sorry for himself before sticking his nose back up and presenting his information. At the description, the detective said, "That sounds a little like your pal, doesn't it?"

Edgeworth promptly snorted. "Believe me when I say that Wright is hardly capable of ironing his suits properly, let alone becoming a crime echelon." Still, the accusation burned him for some reason, so he stopped talking after that. Pinning more and more seemingly useless information to his board of facts relating to Alicio, he ran a hand through his silver locks and deigned to swing by his friend-lover's abode, knowing well that on Saturday evenings he was typically home, and had in their weird courting period insisted that he come over that day more regularly than the others, even though he knew Miles would not accept such an invitation. He was so tired and felt so strange that he figured perhaps he was catching a cold, and his feet dragged him here for that warmth and comfort only Phoenix could offer him at the time, but when he knocked, no one answered. Sighing, he turned to walk away, and came face to face with a woman he did not recognize. His face burned with embarrassment, wondering if Wright had said such a thing in hopes of having them meet and awkwardly severing their romantic relationship. Suddenly furious, he tried very hard not to look at her and curse Wright for his plots.

"Wait!" She breathed out and caught his arm. "Um, you're, uh, Miles, right?" How often did strangers call him by first name? Still enraged, he figured that this woman must have learned it from his old friend. His chest burned, and he patiently did not let this girl with a hood drawn over her hair drive him off. "Look, don't be mad. I haven't been able to get a hold of him for a few days, and I was just trying his place as a last resort. Usually he won't let anybody come over on Saturdays."

Feeling some of his rage dissipate at the sincerity in her voice, his lips stayed stubbornly in a line, and his gray eyes finally observed her closely, now that he wasn't planning to bury Wright alive. She was too young - although he'd heard some men had strange fetishes, he hardly imagined that Wright would be sleeping with such a young woman on the side, without his knowledge. "How do you know my name?"

Her dark eyes blinked, and she didn't seem to understand whether he was teasing her or being serious, so she finally settled on scowling after he did not smile. "I'm Maya. Maya Fey. I knew you when we were kids. Besides that, Nick talks about you all the time." The nickname assured the fact more than anything else - he'd never heard anyone but Butz call Phoenix that. "Now that we've got that out of the way, have you seen him?"

Suddenly realizing, his stomach filled with dread. "No, I have not. We have not met since Tuesday." Then, a gust blew the hood off of her, and revealed a slow trail of blood coming from somewhere atop her head, matting her dark hair. "We have to get to the hospital," He said urgently as it dawned on him what was making her eyes cross, but as she opened her mouth to protest, or maybe to agree, another figure arrived, looking haggard and running dreadfully fast towards them, but the face of the person stopped them from darting quickly away.

"Maya!" Phoenix yelled, catching her hand, despite something trembling in his own scraped fingers. "Maya, I'm so glad to see you. You too, Miles. We have to go," He whisper-breathed to her, and she nodded. Miles Edgeworth felt useless, infuriated, and desparate for answers.

"Let me help you! You two obviously need medical attention," Edgeworth said, feeling his voice grow loud with urgency, his fingers on Wright's shoulder.

"Look, I don't have time, Miles," Phoenix practically threw the letter in his face, and brought his dark blue eyes down, kissing him chastely and smiling sadly before turning back ot the girl. "I have to go. Hey, could you promise me something?"

"Seeing as my only other option here is to let you leave without any sort of parting gesture, I suppose I will agree without fuss," Edgeworth stumbled over some of his words and knotted his brows, hand getting messily covered in the blood from his bed partner's scrapes.

"Promise me you'll still love me after you read that letter," Phoenix said hurriedly, and Edgeworth felt horrible for hesitating.

"I...promise," And that admission had been somehow all that he'd needed, smiling and kissing him again before darting into darkness with Maya Fey and disappearing.

Edgeworth, clutching the letter, felt his heart hammer, wondering what it could possibly entail.

x

_Dear Miles Edgeworth, _the letter began, the penmanship much neater than Miles remembered, but then, the only time he could recall seeing his handwriting had been when he left messy notes for him on the scraps of his old play scripts, about how he would be late in picking up something for breakfast after he'd stayed over on rare occasion, on Friday evenings. Deciding to focus his attention on every detail, he set about reading the thing and ignored some of the faint blood stains marring the paper.

_I apologize for the suddenness with which this letter has been forced into your hands. Although I, admittedly, have spent many hours penning this letter, it is always so dreadfully difficult to figure out where to start. So, in this case, I shall listen to this wisdom of an old teacher, and go back to the beginning; simple enough, in theory. The admissions of these words are not only incriminating for me, but are just as much so for my family and friends - yourself included, at the very closest part to my heart. (Perhaps you will find that comparison melodramatic, but I find it more than truthful.) If you would like, I give you full and express permission to burn this when you are finished reading it. Somehow, I get the feeling that you won't._

_My father was, how to say, involved with the underground. Unlike your father, who had earned his reputation entirely through his work catching the very same criminals, my father made his money by swindling it out of others one way or another, and taking care of those who needed to be killed. Now, I'm going to go ahead and guess that would make you pretty disgusted, so you should know that it makes me disgusted just the same. I never could shoot any living thing, even though he tried to start me early by taking me hunting for deer, rabbits, and waterfowl. Still, the other aspects of our family practice I did not end up escaping from, partially because they were familiar, and partially because I realized that some people, street people, needed my help. Of course all of my work is, unfortunately for the two of us, in opposition of the law. I can't have them running my business for me, after all, so, from time to time, I have to cover up our goings-on. I use a name you throw around at the dinner table with fair regularity. The Enthralling Alicio. Maya had a lot do with that. She's absolutely certain that my middle name is Nicholas, which it is not, and when she mixed the words up, she managed to find 'Exciting Whiplash Honor'. Needless to say, beyond the absurdity of the middle part, it seemed reasonable. Something overdramatic, a red herring to our workings, if you will. Still, as you might have noticed, Honor has very few synonyms resembling a name, so I searched for a more understandable application, hence Alicio, meaning honorable._

_Right now, I haven't been around much because I've gotten into a little fiasco with a man rather obsessed with smuggling children. Although we were once business associates, I grew tired of his particular brand of morality. I have more affluence than he, but they certainly have more gunpowder._

_Remember when I told you I that I would tell you everything? I always wanted you to come back, and find out who I was, arrest me, and read me my rights, and the air would finally be clean between us. I could stop covering up for my family. You could have a life of your own, free of your father's reputation; in that way, we would be alike. But somehow, I ended up falling passionately in love with you. I never loved a woman like I loved you, Miles, and if you believe nothing else, please believe that. Something tells me that we will meet again some day, as you and I both know you're too stubborn to give up without a fight. So, I challenge you to find me. Although, I've kind of gotten over the whole notion of going to jail. You'll have to settle for the chase._

Edgeworth snorted and smirked, deciding he'd do his best work to find Phoenix Wright and get to the bottom of this whole mess, if it took the rest of his life.

* * *

Notes: 1. Homosexuality in the United States, to this day, was and continues to be a huge, secretive deal. In the 30s, before the cultural and sexual revolution, there were plenty of gay men, but oftentimes they were tangled in affairs, marrying to keep secret the fact that they slept with other men.  
2. Textiles/Washing - sheets and other things were only just beginning to be made by machinery, and human working was a huge industry in the U.S. Sweat shops and the like housed many immigrants in the early 1900s. Needless to say, in those circumstances, keeping clean sheets was a difficult chore. Washing by hand and drying by air was fickle.  
3. Electricity - I try not to make many allusions to lights and the like, because gas lamps and candles were still pretty common in this day and age. It was around long before the 1900s, and was used in some places (electric refrigerators had been invented, but iceboxes were still common), and before the Tennessee Valley Authority was around (1933), household electricity was not a commonality.  
4. The movie they went to see was Charlie Chaplin's "The Circus", which came out in 1928.

Also, the art used can be found on my tumblr, ashthebutt. Continues in _Midnight Meetings_, coming very soon!


End file.
